Irregulars Matter Too
by ravenoak21
Summary: A mysterious hit and run bring Sherlock and John onto the scene. Another incident involving a car gives John more insight into Sherlock's relationship with his Irregulars.
1. Chapter 1

**One mysterious hit and run case brings Sherlock and John onto the scene. Another car accident gives John more insight into Sherlock's relationship with his Irregular's**

**Just a little something that has been making itself heard. Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer as always. I own nothing of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and BBC's Sherlock.**

"There's someone here." Donovan's voice. She started to move into the alley.

Sherlock's head snapped up as faint rattle then metallic clang caught his attention. He moved into the dark alley a few steps behind Sally Donovan, the beam of his flashlight playing along the wall. The light seemed to hesitate in one spot but only for a very brief moment.

"Donovan! Don't chase him!" The detective was off and running.

Lestrade and John where hot on his heels.

"Suli, stop! No one is going to hurt you!"

Sherlock had caught up with Donovan and was blocking her advance. His focus was on a figure a few yards ahead, back lit by the street lights of the alley's open end.

"It's fine, Suli. Don't be afraid. These people just want to talk to you. You don't have to run." The baritone had softened as he slowly advanced. His left arm out towards the police officers behind him mutely demanding them to keep their distance. His right hand was outstretched to the figure he had put the name "Suli" to.

"You know me, Suli. You know my voice. I work with these people. They mean you no harm."

The figure was bent forwards, hand resting on his knees as if trying to catch his breath.

"Freak..."

"Shut up. Just stay back, all of you. And don't speak."

Sherlock's voice remained soft, moderate, but was now measured. From back down the alley Sherlock could hear the sound of running feet. Flashlight beams danced off the walls and the ground.

"Keep them back, Lestrade. Suli..."

The figure spun and sprinted for the open street behind it, Sherlock followed. "No...Suli! NO!"

The squeal of a car braking hard and the heart stopping thud of flesh and bone meeting an immovable object echoed off the brick walls of the alley way.

"John!"

John, Lestrade, Donovan and the other Met officers spilled out onto the sidewalk. "Donovan, Weymouth! Get that traffic stopped, Now!" Then Lestrade spun and sprinted back down the alley.

"For God's sake, hurry up, John!"

Sherlock was kneeling in the light of a stopped car's headlamps, phone out as John joined him. "It's fine, Suli. This man is a doctor. I've` called for an ambulance. "

John started triage the best he could with little to work with when Lestrade ran out of the alley carrying blanket's and a first aid kit. These he dropped at John's side. In the beams of the stopped cars, the person laying on the pavement looked to be no more then 12 or 13. He was shivering, his eyes locked on Sherlock. Dark eyes blinked and the boy's brow drew down, his right hand reaching. Sherlock took it in his own.

"Hurt?"

"Yes, I know. Suli hurt. But you're in very good hands."

"Sleepy now."

"You _cannot_ sleep. You _must_ stay awake. You _must_ stay with us."

"So cold." It was barely a whisper.

"Soon. You'll be warm soon." The baritone was as soft as John had ever heard it before.

The ambulance edged to a stop and the paramedics gathered around Sherlock and Suli. John stepped back to give them room to work. Sherlock and the boy stayed locked together, eyes and hands.

Lestrade moved up to join John, his eyes on the tableau. "Sociopath, my aunt fanny. What is it about these street kids that opens him up?"

John could only shake his head. John knew that Sherlock probably had Asperger's. He certainly showed many of the classic clinical attributes. But then, if Sherlock and Mr. Mycroft Holmes were a fair representative of the whole Holmes clan, how much was environmental conditioning? He wasn't about to touch that subject with the proverbial ten foot pole. But why he could show his Irregular's a less sarcastic, scathing, cold and clinical side then his clients and would be colleagues was a true mystery.

Sherlock was giving the paramedics space and maneuverability without breaking contact with the kid. When Suli was prepped and on the gurney, Sherlock walked beside it towards the ambulance.

Lestrade tapped John on the arm. "Come on, we'll follow."

The two men booked it back towards Lestrade's car. They climbed in and Lestrade maneuvered out to be near the ambulance. Pulling out after it as it took off, siren's wailing through the night. The drive to the hospital took a little less 15 minutes. As the emergency vehicle pulled up to prepare to unload it's precious cargo Lestrade parked and got out. John disembarking at the same time. They approached the ambulance to meet Sherlock. The ambulance driver got out and trotted to the back to open it up. John watched as Sherlock was allowed to step down first. Instead of waiting for the gurney or even moving towards the hospital entrance, he simply walked away, hands shoved in his pockets.

Lestrade blew out a breath. "Damn. Sherlock? Sherlock!"

The tall man paused, his body swinging slightly in their direction.

"Want a ride?"

"Thank you, no."

"What was he doing in the alley this time of night?"

"He wasn't your killer, if that is what you are asking."

"Then that doesn't answer my question, does it."

"He was painting. Didn't you hear the rattle of the spray can when Donovan startled him?"

"In the dark."

"He was a savant in that area. If you like I can show you his work in the morning."

"I'm heading back there now. Will you come?"

"I'll be there in a bit."

John moved away the car to stand near Sherlock. Lestrade gave a nod in acknowledgment, climbed in and drove away. Sherlock led the way out onto the sidewalk heading back towards the crime scene. John was praying that the tall consulting detective hadn't taken it into his head to walk all the way back.

"How old was he?"

"As far as any one could tell, he was at least 16."

"He looked younger then that."

"Delayed development. A genetic disorder. Any more questions?"

"No." John half expected some kind of comment. Something snarky involving the words _sentiment_ and _dull_, maybe even _stupid_ but there was only silence so John decided small talk was not on this little outing's agenda. John figured they had walked a couple of miles when his companion suddenly stepped off into the street and hailed an on coming cab. John thankfully climbed in. Sherlock gave the address and they were soon walking out of the alley to join Lestrade and his officers.

Lestrade met them with latex gloves and shoe protectors which they both slipped on then followed the Detective Inspector towards the gently fluttering police tape.

"What has forensics come up with so far?"

"Tire tracks, two sets of footprints. The victim bled out somewhere else. Throat slashed, not cleanly either, I might add, but very little blood." Lestrade moved outside the police tape to where the eye could make out two faint tracks in the dry soil and sparse vegetation. Anderson and his team had set up markers inside the tape barrier. Footprints being measured. The sole tread being photographed. Sherlock slipped under the tape his companions following. They walked carefully in the middle of the two trails. Anderson glanced up and pulled a sour face but there wasn't anything he could do so he turned his back them.

When Sherlock was parallel to the body he stopped and studied the area. It didn't take a genius to see that the victim's shoes didn't fit either set of footprints. He painstakingly stepped over the tire tracks and footprints and crouched beside the dead man. He had been laid out on his back. His head, face and throat showing signs of lacerations and bruising. His short hair was matted with blood and it had dripped down over his face.

"Any other bruising?"

When Anderson didn't answer Sherlock gave him a hard look. Finding himself ignored he gave a huff.

"Fine. I'll check..."

"Lower abdomen and lower extremities." Anderson clipped out.

"Anything in his pockets?"

"We found a wallet, but nothing in it along the lines of ID. No mobile.." It was Lestrade that answered this time.

Sherlock started to examine the man's fingers, hands, wrists, arms, and clothing. When he was finished with that he stood and moved back to the tire tracks, studying the ground from different angles. He sometimes knelt and touched the ground lightly. Barely using his fingertips.

"Anything at all, Sherlock?" Lestrade was watching him expectantly.

"The vehicle was traveling in this direction." He stood facing the body indicating a left to right motion. "It stopped here."

"How can you tell all that?" Lestrade asked the question. John prepared to take the notes.

"The position of the body and the footprints of the passenger and driver tell me which way the vehicle came in. Probably a car, smallish. Not a SUV or truck. The bruising on his body is low. So the grill is not high. Plus the momentum of the hit sent him into the windshield with enough force to put him head first through it. But he is here. Both sets of footprints are parallel to him. They did not approach the back doors so bonnet it is. The windshield will be broken on the passenger's side. I know this because the driver got out and walked around the front of the car to help the passenger extract the victim from the windshield. Because there is little blood on the victim indicates that he bled out into the interior.

Sherlock then moved to the tire tracks. "The tire tread is more distinct here, here, here and here. Indicating the car was at rest. The weight of it pressing the imprint of the tread deeper into the soil. When it started to move, the traction for forward movement would be more pronounced, soil spraying back away from the front."

"So...you're saying this was an accident? That they...what...panicked and left him here?"

"Yes. Or a cleverly staged murder. But you won't know that until you find the car and it's driver."

"Sher-lock!"

"You have all the evidence before you, Lestrade. I cannot give you anything more."

"What about the guy in the alley?" Donovan had moved to stand near Lestrade.

"A potential witness, nothing more."

"You're sure?"

"Oh please. Do you see a car? Why drive away only to come back and start to paint? You will check his foot ware, of course. It will not match, his feet were to small to make either of these prints. Besides. He wouldn't have had time to take the car far and come back before the body was found. Suli couldn't drive anyway. He certainly didn't own one."

"He could have stolen it"

Sherlock spun on Anderson but before he could react Lestrade stepped in.

"That's it. Donovan, Anderson, pack it up. They can have the body now. We'll come back in the morning so leave the tape up. I need two officers to stay here and make sure this isn't disturbed until then. The rest of you can go back to the station or go home." He gave John and Sherlock a meaningful look.

Sherlock turned away and holding the tape for John, passed under. They headed for the main road, a taxi, and back to Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Someone suggested that I make "Irregulars Matter Too" into a series. I might just try to do that so here is another one.**

**This one is pre-Doctor John H Watson. So I guess they will jump around time line wise according to the dictates of my Baskerville bred plot bunny. God, these things can be scary.**

**Disclaimer don't own anything pertaining to Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or the crew at BBC**

"We need to talk."

Grey-green eyes slid his way. Lestrade knew what those eyes and the brain behind them were capable of but he had nothing to hide from the younger man.

"Really? It would be...oh. They don't like the evidence I gave you from the Wiltshire case."

DI Lestrade blew out a frosty breath. "Not all of it, no."

The lips of the consulting detective turned up into a smile that did nothing to warm the quick silver eyes. "If they cannot accept the fact that no one is above the law, why bother with a detective division at all."

"Sherlock, they just want to be sure, that's all. He's been a pillar of the community..."

"Oh do spare me, Lestrade. What they want is to turn a blind eye in hopes it all goes away. Fine. I have no interest what so ever in the outcome. I was called in. I gave you the results of the investigation. If it's unsatisfactory we either go through it again or I wash my hands of it and they can do as they please."

"So you're confi...scratch that. You're to bloody confident all the time."

"The question is, are you satisfied with my results. Honestly, deep down, Detective Inspector, do you have any doubts to his guilt?"

"No." It was begrudging but no less the truth.

The tall lean man simply nodded. He had his answer.

"I just want you to watch your back, Sherlock. There is no telling what kind of fallout might result from this. You may be unofficial..."

"But. Yes, fine. I will keep a low profile. But I will not hold my peace if they try to scapegoat you."

"I can take care of myself. Plus I have all of NSY behind me."

The dark head tipped back as a almost silent but not altogether genuine laughter rippled in hazy vapor into the cold night air. "Why do I find that less then reassuring?"

Then the voice sobered to a hard baritone. "They would turn on you, or anyone for that matter, if they thought for a second it would save their own skin's."

"You are far too young to be so cynical."

"Am I. You really know so little about me, Lestrade. Besides, I am a recovering addict, remember? A dim view of the world and all that?"

"Maybe if you would open up more."

"What? Sit down by some cozy fireside and bare our souls to each other over a cigar and brandy? Really not my cup of tea, Lestrade. I dare say my brother Mycroft might be open to such an invitation. But then, you're a beer type of person, so probably not."

Lestrade bridled at the dripping sarcasm and the implied insult at the end. "God, you can such a berk."

His only answer was a shake of the head along with a slight shrug. It was like watching someone shedding rain water after a quick dash to shelter. Lestrade had to wonder it the kid could really sling other people's words and opinions away so carelessly and completely.

000

Sherlock knew that the double locks on his door gave precious little security so when the flimsy panel of wood exploded inwards it was startling but not altogether unexpected given the run down neighborhood he lived in. What did catch him off guard was that the three men who barged through into his flat weren't street thugs, they were someone's muscle. All well dressed, wearing masks and on a well orchestrated mission.

He had been practicing a piece on the violin when the door heaved inward. But was making for the fire escape when it was clear that the situation was deteriorating fast. The first man through the gap grabbed him by the throat and slammed him up against a bookcase. Sherlock's eyes flicked to the other two men. One held a gun, the other a camera, but before he could process any of it, his focus was brought back to the man invading his immediate personal space. The hold on his throat was firm but not constricting.

"Oh don't worry Mr. Holmes. We're not here to hurt you. Our employer just wants to make bloody good and sure that what ever you say against him doesn't have a ghost of a chance of standing up in court."

It was then that it became very clear to Sherlock what the camera was for and he felt the violent rent and tear of his shirt. With a sense of shock he watched the man's lips form into a slow leer and registered the metallic whirrr of the camera. But when the man's head dipped slowly across his chest leaving a warm slick trail of tongue while fingers caressed between his belly and the material of his jeans, he felt a cold rage set in and he fed his shock into it forcing his mind to adjust it's focus. Fight and flight.

Bracing his back against the bookcase, he gripped his attacker's shoulders, jerking his knee hard under the man's sternum then pushed him back bringing the same leg down into a viscous stomp to the groin. Even as the man started to stumble backwards screaming, Sherlock twisted to his left, his left forearm driving his opponent's gun hand up and away as he drove the heel of his right palm under and up into the man's nose. Dropping down and back he flung the man over his head to crash into the camera man. Stopping only long enough to grab up the violin, the camera and a sweatshirt, he fled.

Instead of going down to the street he went up. He knew there were safer passages in the upper levels of London then what might be waiting below. Several rooftops away, he dropped, his back braced against the solid brick of a chimney, the heels of his hands pressing into his temples as a full blown anxiety attack threatened to rob him of clear rational thought.

Principles, theorems, the periodic elements table recited slowly, methodically until the worst of the panic passed.

_Mobile...no mobile...where mobile? Damnit! In flat. Not going back to flat._

Slowly he got to his feet. He wasn't dressed for this cold. The flat roofs radiated heat but the wind was bone chilling. Hitting a fire escape, he made his way down to street level. Hugging the Strad to his chest, he made his way to the main street, his eyes and mind casting about for some idea what to do next. He needed warmth and he needed a phone. Needed to call Lestrade.

"Excuse me, sir. But I believe you dropped this?"

"What?"

The tourist turned to find a smiling dark curly haired youth holding out a folded leather wallet.

"Really? I don't think so. Oh! Thank you." The man took and started to open it.

"Oh, please sir, no. That's not necessary."

The man pressed twenty American dollars into the younger man's hand. "No, no. I insist. It's refreshing to find such honesty on a city street now a days."

"Thank you, sir. Welcome to London. I hope you enjoy your stay."

Sherlock performed a graceful about face and slipped the twenty away to join the 60 dollars he had already pilfered. Scouting out a decent clothing store with an even better bargain basement, he bought a warm winter coat, two pairs of jeans, sweaters, a hooded sweatshirt and two woolen blankets, a knitted cap and gloves. Making sure he had enough for a descent mobile. Once he had paid for everything he slipped in to the restroom jammed the ruined shirt and the jeans he was wearing into the carrier's bag and changed into the warmer clothing. Then went in search of the mobile.

He wanted to get the camera and clothes to Lestrade before he "disappeared" but he was still finding it difficult to focus fully. He was going to have to find a place and get the incident cataloged and locked away in his mind palace soon. It wasn't until he noticed a special courier on a bicycle that he seized on a plan. He hunted down a post office and prepared the camera and clothing to be shipped by parcel post but didn't send them. Then he got a green parcel signature slip and headed for New Scotland Yard.

"Special delivery for Detective Inspector Lestrade."

The duty officer held out his hand for the packages.

"Sorry guv. The DI is going to have to sign for them."

"Right. Officer Brix, see that these get to DI Lestrade."

"Very good, sir. Follow me then."

Sherlock kept his head down as he followed dutifully. Every nerve was telling him to leave. He tamped the impulse down hard. He knew the fear irrational so he put one foot in front of the other. His guide rapped smartly on Lestrade's office door. Lestrade called out his permission and the officer opened it. "A couple of parcels for you came for you by special delivery."

"What's this then?"

Sherlock slipped in and mutely placed the packages on the desk and held out an envelope. He detested the tremors that were quaking him but they also provided excellent camouflage. Lestrade took the envelope while eye the messenger. Then he noticed the two words on the envelope

"Sherlock Urgent"

and he tore into it.

"Packages contain crime scene evidence. Pictures and clothing. Fall out has begun. Have had to go to ground. Will text. S H"

Fishing latex gloves out of a draw, Lestrade opened the smaller parcel first. A frown pulled his eyebrows down as he activated the camera's memory.

"Oh God...Donovan! Two units, right now!" He locked the parcels away and bolted out the door shouting Sherlock's current address.

By this time the courier was locked in a stall in the men's room setting knees to chest as his body recoiled, once again trying not to retch. _Periodic Table. Transition metals. Alphabetized then by atomic number, high to low. Move on to Long Table. _Once he had a fair amount of control of his transport, he too was on the move. Time to join the Irregular's.

000

Lestrade leaned against the wall opposite Sherlock's shattered door. He could see the forensic's team moving slowly and methodically. The flash as pictures were taken .

"We have blood here. Two separate places."

_So, he had been able to fight off the attack and do damage in the process. Well, cheers then. Just __hope the camera Sherlock sent had caught that too. Because with the lad's drug history and that body, hair and face, it wouldn't take much to convince a jury that...sod it all! Wiltshire had shown himself to be one sick bastard and he was going to fall._

Lestrade reached for his phone as it pinged.

"Where are you? SH"

"Standing out side your flat. Are you alright? GL"

"I'm fine. SH"

"Anything you need once forensic's is done? GL"

"Skull, clothes, computer, books, papers, lab equipment. I have the Strad with me. SH"

"Coming back here? GL"

"Never. SH"

"Understood. Experiment's? GL"

"Rubbish now. SH"

"One spent casing. Looks to be from a hand gun." Anderson's voice.

"What can you tell me about a shot being fired? GL"

"The firearm went off when I shoved his nasal cartilage into his skull. The bullet should be in the ceiling. SH"

"Check the ceiling for the slug!"

"Bloody hell. He sounds like the Freak. How could he know where to look?"

"Found it! Going to need something to stand on to reach it."

"Moron's. Are you safe? SH"

"Think he'll try for me next? GL"

"A possibility? It was your case and you doubted his innocence. SH"

"And he attacked one lone kid and failed miserably. Think he's stupid enough to try to take on a police officer? Yeah, ok. I'll watch my back. GL"

"Very astute. SH"

"How's the anxiety? GL"

"Not so good. SH"

"At least you're being honest. Medication? GL"

"I refuse to be turned into a zombie. It's manageable. SH"

"You know where it'll be if you need it. GL"

"F.I.N.E! SH"

"Sherlock. GL"

"I have to go. I'll text. SH"

Lestrade slipped the phone away as Anderson came to the door. "It's ready for you, sir."

He stepped into the flat having no problem at all reconstructing the scene thanks to that damned camera. He was more then thankful that Sherlock had learned to fight hard and dirty.

000

Sherlock knew that the Irregular's would gravitate towards an area near Angelo's over near Baker Street. The man found that the nightly restaurant leftovers and a little pay went a long way in the cost of a security system. A select and carefully guarded system of word of mouth had revealed and fostered like minded situations all around the city. Still he moved cautiously. It was winter and all of the homeless would be seeking warm places. There were predators here. It was a world of desperation, fear, and very little hope.

A faint rustle ahead brought him to a dead standstill. Head lightly cocked, listening. A woman. The sound had been of layered skirts and now a familiar perfume ticked tickled his sinuses.

"Persia."

"Mr. Sherlock. " She turned on her flashlight.

Sherlock caught the note of relief in her voice. "Problem?"

"No more then usual. Just good to know the company is welcome. Need a runner?"

"No. A place to stay."

"Stay...?" Her surprise was almost palatable. "Trouble top side, tossers all. Come on then. I'll show you where we're at."

She led the way through a warren of passages until she turned off into a deep bay. Sherlock knew what to expect but it was always amazing. Move in her orbit and it was a place of warmth, light and color. Poor she might be, and homeless, but that didn't do much to dampen her spirit or love of the dramatic. She collected rugs, draperies, and candle lamps of a middle eastern flavor. It was like stepping into a gypsy camp or a mogul's palace and she played it to the hilt. Summer's she made a few coin reading palms and tarot cards. She had gathered a group of about two dozen people mostly young family groups. They all acknowledged him and some started to get up but he waved them back down.

"Trouble indeed. "Persia was studying him with a practiced eye.

"I don't need to be deduced."

"Come. Sit down. There is plenty of food, for once. You sought us out. A good thing, still clean. But your eyes are never still..."

"Just...don't"

"Go on, then. Eat. Then select a bedsit. There's plenty of room."

000

"Over eager, wasn't he. Idiot. SH"

"But a dangerous idiot. If he had been more meticulous it would have done some real damage. And I'm not just talking about the case. GL"

"..."

"You put two of them in the hospital. One in serious condition. GL"

"I hardly think I'll lose any sleep. SH"

"Nor should you, considering what they had planed. GL"

"Irrelevant."

"Meaning you would have done the same if you had been caught in a simple robbery."

"Without question. SH"

"You are safe? GL"

"Yes. There is no way they can find me. I'm with very good people. SH"


	3. Chapter 3

**Wasn't sure if there were going to be any ongoing stories in this but obviously, you see where this is going? A little bit of Persia's back story post-Sherlock's break-in. Thank you to Es Aitch for suggesting this be a series and Myseybee for the review and to all who may be reading this. It is much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer as always don't own anything dealing with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Sir ACD or BBC.**

Persia let everyone settle in for the night. With no electricity down here below streets most people went to bed early. Yes, she made sure she had plenty of candles for heat as well and light and battery power as well. But energy had to be conserved. She had learned to survive and survive well. Stupid did not last long on the street.

She glanced towards the alcove where her newest guest and oft time benefactor had taken residence. He had set down a few basic rules for those who chose to fall in with him. One being that they stay off the crack. Some wondered about that one. He had been arrested for using, he couldn't even hope to hide the fact from the streets. But no one dared to call him on it. You either followed it or got left behind if one didn't try to kick it hard core.. She could understand it though. He was fighting his own demons every step of the way since he had caught Scotland Yard's attention with his mental gifts and passion for crime solving.. And down here betrayal was death in spades. A druggie was a threat, a liability, a sell out waiting to happen. When he came to them he was always clean.

She set the liquid alcohol lamps under the stone griddle and put a pan of water to heat. A key into the lock of a heavy wooden chest and packets and bottles of herbs and tinctures pored over and selected before the lid was closed and locked once more. Sherlock may be off the stuff, she knew, but what ever had driven him to seek shelter among the "network" had jangled him badly. Once the mixture was cooled properly she poured it into a mug and went to pay a courtesy call.

Another basic rule. You did not disturb if eyes were closed and fingers steepled. Important thinking in progress and please refrain from doing the same in close proximity. If at all possible, just go away.

This one had amused her. His eyes were indeed closed but instead of his fingers being steepled his hands were engaged in hugging a well used violin case to his chest, his lips moving silently. She had learned to be patient and to give people their space. Soon enough she was looking into the most intriguing hazel eyes she had ever met. She held out the mug.

Sherlock glanced at it and sniffed almost delicately. "What is it?"

"Nothing that can hurt you, Mr. Sherlock. I can promise you that."

"Herbals?"

"A hobby so to speak. Not many of us can afford a run to London Bridge or the Queen's. Some one has got to know something about healing down here."

He motioned it away. "I'm not ill."

"As true as that may be, you are edgy. This will help. No need to pretend, Mr. Sherlock. I spend to much time among people. See all sorts. I've learned to use my eyes, as well as my head. You are more settled now granted. But you are still uneasy about something. This won't even make you sleepy. Just quiet that nervy feeling some. If you don't like it, you don't have to take it."

She continued to hold the mug out. After another moments hesitation, he accepted it and took a cautious sip rolling it on his tongue before swallowing.

"I detect Avena Sativa, Lemon Balm and Passion Flower."

"You know herbs, Mr. Sherlock?"

"Very few. Not really my field. I deal with plants and their poisons mostly."

Persia shook her head. "Don't mess with those myself."

"No, you wouldn't. You care for the healing of people. You're medical training and the fact that you have made phytotherapy and holistic healing you main focus of studies are a testament to that. You have family and even stay in touch but you keep them ignorant of your current "mission" field. You choose to live in London even though it forces you to live among the homeless. You prefer it. Am I wrong." He took another sip from the mug his eyes never leaving her face.

"I have seen you entertain the children with what they call your "magic trick" but it's more then that, isn't it? You really do notice things about people? But to answer your question, yes. You are spot on"

He shrugged, finished the beverage and placed the mug on the cushion between them.

"Do you need bedding?

"I brought two wool blankets."

"Take what pillows you like. I also have clean linens. She patted a roll of material behind her. "This is a duvet."

"I'm fine."

She picked up the mug.

"Thank you."

Persia smiled and reached out a hand but he gave as slight move as if to sidle away from the hand and a small shake of his head. The smile faded.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Just a break in at my flat. They destroyed my door."

She perceived the truth in the statement but the body language said more. She couldn't, wouldn't pry. She had known him before he started working with the bobbies. When he was working out problems for his Uni classmates. But even back then he wasn't an open book. Then came the drugs. He had been gone from London almost two years. No one seemed to know where or why. When he returned something had shut down in him and had triggered a drug habit. She had been worried but he could still function. Could still solve the puzzles that came his way. Then came his connection with the Metro police and a younger Lestrade. Things started to change for the better. Lestrade started to take a personal interest in the twitchy young man. Even to the point of trying to get Sherlock off the crack and wonders of wonders, it was working.

"You feel safe here?"

The blue-green eyes rolled slightly and closed. The graceful neck dropped back against the thick pillows bracing his back.

"Yes." A soft drawn in breath then release. "I do."

"It's all a matter of trust." She gently laid a hand on his leg just above the ankle. She felt the slightest of tremors but this time there was no pulling away.

"These men..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Persia."

"Very well. I am going to heat some water so you can do a bit of a wash up." She got up to leave.

"It would be most appreciated."

This time she looked into eyes that were clear and calm. They had been simple words but to her they had spoke volumes. "Appreciation for her not prying. For understanding. For opening her refuge to him." She smiled again then swept out of the alcove letting herself focus on the task of preparing the bath. Two tours of duty in Iraq as a psychotherapist had taught her more then just text book treatment for trauma. Guns and road side bombs weren't the only methods used to intimidate and violate the human spirit. So she had studied and researched. Incorporating other methodologies of healing. Herbs and subtle, non-invasive massage and acupressure. She noticed that this man understood already the healing power of music and clung to it like a life line.

Once the basin of water was hot she let Sherlock know, then gave him his privacy. He scrubbed himself down and washed his hair wishing all the world he could take a long hot shower. But this would do for now.


	4. Chapter 4

**A continuation of the "Sherlock/Persia" story. **

After Persia left Sherlock found himself sinking into a light doze. He frowned, hadn't she told him that the herbal concoction would not make him sleepy? Then he relaxed again. She was to be trusted always had been. Maybe this was just his transport's way of dealing with the aftermath of the events earlier. He told her he felt safe here and it was the truth so he allowed himself to fall into sleep.

The thought was strong, vivid, and urgent and it brought him out of deep sleep into full wakefulness with a growl of frustration. Grabbing up the violin, he scrounged for paper and pen, finding both, wrote a note and left both the note and the violin in Persia's personal alcove then slipped out of the warmth into the cold of the concrete underworld. As soon as his phone registered coverage he punched in Lestrade's number.

"Get out!"

"Mornin' to you too, Sunshine." DI Lestrade yawned into the phone eyes searching for the alarm clock."

"Shut up and get out, Now!"

"Sherlock..." But Lestrade was cut off before he could say more.

"FINE! Maybe they won't hurt your wife! Are you a betting man, Inspector? I .Am. Not!"

"Okay, okay. I'm up."

" No lights on what so ever. Not now, I am sure you can manage to dress in the dark, nor when you hit the street. No flashlights. Wear dark blues and black. Black socks and shoes no light colored sneakers. Cover hands and as much of your face as possible. Head up your street then keep to the north-west. I'm coming to meet you."

To stave off anymore attempts of protest from Lestrade, Sherlock turned the phone off mumbling to himself _why can't people just listen and do? Argue, argue, argue all the time!_

On Lestrade's part he gently shook his sleepy wife awake then got out of bed and started digging through the dresser drawers pulling out warm dark socks, sweaters, hooded sweatshirts, gloves, jeans, and scarves.

"Greg? What's going on?"

He placed her clothing close by her side. "Get dressed, sweetheart. I think we may be getting some unwelcome company. We're going to meet a friend. No questions now, we have to be quick."

Within moments two shadows slipped out a side door and up the sidewalk keeping out of the light as much as possible, Greg holding tight to Abby's hand.

"Were we threatened, Greg?"

"No sweetie, more like we were advised of a possible threat. But I trust this particular voice on the phone. He is so seldom wrong so I have no problem following his instructions."

Once they reached the end of the street, Lestrade paused. Sherlock had said to keep heading to the north-west. Cautiously checking the road way for any unusual activity, pedestrian or vehicular, he led the way across the street and kept to the west. But as to a northward path? Alley or mew?

He started looking for a black on black shadow that should signify an opening to their right. _Damn __the kid for stipulating no flashlights! Not everyone can maneuver through the backside of London at night by touch and smell, or what ever the hell senses he uses, alone!_

It wasn't a dark opening that alerted the DI to the alley but a chill breeze that made his right cheek tingle. Pulling the precious woman closer, Lestrade slipped into the alley. The going was agonizingly slow. There was no light here at all, the darkness absolute. Lestrade kept a few steps ahead feeling for any obstructions or hazards.

"So glad you took me seriously."

Abby gave a frightened squeal.

"Oh for God's sake, Sher-lock!"

"Please keep your voices down, noises carry. In fact do shut up. Silence would serve us best."

With that Lestrade felt his hand taken in a firm grip. He strengthened his own hold on Abby's hand and felt her answering squeeze. The trio ghosted across three streets until Sherlock shepherded them up a fire escape and led them through the upper strata of London. On one rooftop Sherlock picked up a coil of something that looked like rope then continued to lead the way across several more before approaching a railing where he dropped the coil over the side of the building.

"I'll go down first, then send her down."

Without waiting for an answer the young man climbed over the railing and down the rope. Lestrade guided Abby over the railing to find that a it was a coil of portable fire escape ladder that dropped into deep darkness.

"Go on, Sherlock will be waiting. I'm right behind you."

As soon as Abby had made her way down several rungs Lestrade legged it over the railing and started down the ladder. At the bottom he found himself on a small balcony. A hand grabbed his arm and led him through a set of french doors into a space that was at least a few degrees warmer then the air outside and the doors were closed behind him. He then felt a body brush by him. A few minutes passed and then a light chased the dark into the corners of a large chamber.

Sherlock was moving around as he removed his gloves. "There is food, bottled water, fuel for the fireplace. I'll get that going in just a minute."

"What is this place, Sherlock?"

"It's a discontinued attic. The access was sealed up a few years ago. They left the fireplace intact. The room is warmed by the chimney which is still in use, luckily for us. There is also half bath that is functional. It's like they just boarded up the staircase and forgot about everything that was up here. It makes an excellent bolt hole."

Good to his word Sherlock gathered kindling, fire starters, bio bricks, matches, and knelt in front of grate to build the fire, only looking up as Lestrade's phone rings then turns back to the fire making, a slight smile flickering across his lips.

Lestrade gave a slight huff as he answers the phone his eyes cutting to the younger man as he listens.

"Greg?" Abby's voice was hushed with a hint of distress.

"It's my Sargent. He reports that a neighbor called in a break-in at our house. She called in the license number and they are converging on it now."

Sherlock stood and turned to face Lestrade.

"I think it is about time for the hunted to become the hunters. Wiltshire will keep hiring these people as long as he thinks he can afford it. It's time to make him come out of the shadows and make it a personal confrontation."

"What are you planning to do, Sherlock."

"Once you're settled here I'm going to set some of my Irregulars to work."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm going with you then, look, I'm not going to be able to be in on our home invasion investigation but I can start putting more pressure on Wiltshire."

"No." Sherlock's hands were folded, chin resting on the finger tips. Eyes intense and focused.

"Excuse me?"

"You leave him alone for the time being."

"You want to share what's going on in that head of yours?"

Sherlock flipped a hand dismissively then started to reach for his gloves.

Lestrade shook his head.

"This isn't how it works and you know it. You may see yourself as an independent agent but the Metro called you in on this. Consider me a client and fill me in on the progress you are making in your investigation."

The younger man stilled, eyes pinning Greg, then looked away releasing a long breath.

"Give me three days, Lestrade. I can put people on Wiltshire. If he does try to make another contract, I'll know and we can set a net to catch him up."

"You're unofficial Sherlock. Employing..."

Sherlock cut across him. "Yes! Exactly! And my people can be far more effective then any police force."

Lestrade stood hands on hips studying Sherlock. The young man stood poised like a greyhound anticipating the release of the rabbit.

"Remember that there are lines I cannot allow you or anyone else to cross. One screw up and the whole case is compromised and that goes for me as well."

"Three days, Inspector. If I cannot pin him down in that time I will give it into your hands. All of it."

"Promise me, Sherlock."

Lestrade watched a change come over Sherlock's face. The eyes took on a flat look, the lips tightened.

_Promise? What an empty hateful word __**that**__ has become. _"I have given you my word." The voice had dropped and was almost a angry growl.

Lestrade sighed. _Maybe some day I will understand what makes you such an angry, always __reckless, almost self destructive, young man. Won't hold my breath on it though. _"Alright, God help me. Don't make me regret this."

"You won't."

"Don't be so sure, I may be already. But yes, you have your three days."

Sherlock's clapping of hands resounded in the large mostly empty chamber like a pistol shot as he spun away and grabbed for his gloves making it this time without interruption.

"Greg, I would like to talk to you?"

"Sure Abby. Sherlock, you wait for me."

Sherlock's eyes tracked between husband and wife then gave a curt nod and passed through the french doors.

"You didn't tell me who was on the phone."

"I know what you think of him and we didn't have time to discuss it."

"Your job, sweetheart. The drugs."

"I'm not the only detective who brings him in on cases. Even some of the DI's are looking at his work and are talking about using him themselves. Yes, of course he has to stay clean and he's really trying. Especially since his overdose.

"Oh Greg, you can't save everyone, why him?"

"He's worth saving. You've never seen him at work. He's so focused and relentless he makes our best trained people look like rank amateurs, Abby. He has a website and the criminologists are not only reading it but they are discussing the quality of his deductions and discourses. It seems he's attended Uni., Cambridge no less. And you know, I'd much rather have that mind on our side then working against us. I tell you, it gives us all nightmares."

She gestured around the chamber. "I'm to stay here alone?"

"You'll be safer her then any place I can think of. But if you want company I can see if..."

Her voice was curt almost sarcastic. "More street people?"

"No, Abby. I can get a female member of the Metro. I'll do that as soon as possible. But you'll be warm and no one can find you, let alone get to you. These people are ruthless, Abby. They would have hurt you, maybe the both of us, if they had found us home. We owe Sherlock that much. Some men we believe were hired by the same man who probably hired that bunch tonight went after Sherlock yesterday and they weren't just going to talk or threaten him. They were going to use him to destroy the testimony against the man who is under investigation. And they were not going to be gently about it."

He took both her hands in his and pulled her close.

"You're safe here, sweetheart, and that to me is everything. Don't worry, I'll have Sherlock bring me back here tonight. So you won't be alone for long in any case."

Abby smiled for once. "I can see you are right. Go on then. The sooner you go maybe the sooner you will be able to return."

"Thank you, Abby." They shared a tender kiss then reluctantly parted and Lestrade exited through the french doors himself.

"I'm up here. Didn't want to be eaves dropping on your leave taking."

Lestrade huffed softly then climbed the ladder to find the young man perched on the edge of the roof finishing up a smoke. He wondered if Sherlock was aware of the pun he represented setting, literally, on the eaves legs dangling over into space.

"Are we ready?" Sherlock crushed out the fag and stood.

"She's scared, Sherlock. Pulled out of her home in the middle of the night by a phone call."

"You don't have to explain it to me, Inspector."

Sherlock unfastened the rope ladder from the railing and rolled it up as he reeled it in.

Lestrade paused. "No, I suppose I don't. Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for so please don't."

They passed over several rooftops before Sherlock tucked the ladder away then led the way down a fire escape.

"This isn't the same way we came up, is it." It wasn't a question.

"Good. You were paying attention. No it isn't. And when we come back tonight it will be by a different route still."

Sherlock led Lestrade through a rabbit warren of streets and back alley's until they were at the head of Lestrade's street. Sherlock stopped.

"I leave you here, Lestrade. I will have Wiltshire under surveillance by tonight. Hopefully by tomorrow I will know if he is looking to hire another hit on one or both of us. I will come to NSY and take you back to your wife tonight."

Sherlock then slipped away and disappeared into the pedestrian traffic. Lestrade made his way down the street to talk to the officers who had been called out to look into the break in at his home. It made him angry, frustrated and feeling violated that someone would or could invade his private space. The one place he thought he could feel safe. He knew that Abby was feeling much the same way.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

As Lestrade walked towards his home the reality of a certain situation hit him, stopping him in his tracks.

_Oh for the love...damn it SHERLOCK! Abby is going to skin the both of us!_

Sherlock's round about routes to and from his "bolt hole" made it impossible for Lestrade to retrace their tracks which meant there was no way he was going to be able to get a police woman back to stay with Abby. Lestrade sighed heavily, his shoulder's slumping slightly. He didn't like disappointing his wife, not at all, for any reason. This did not bode well for tonight's reunion.

He stalked the rest of the way to the front of his home and ducked under the blue and white police tape. A young officer looked at him with a quizzical look then glanced at the house then back again.

"Right, Guv. It's all clear."

Lestrade nodded curtly and entered the house to find a forensics team still at work.

The DI is upstairs in the master bedroom. If you want to talk to him, sir."

"Thank you, sergeant." And Lestrade headed for the stairs.

000

Sherlock took a pencil stub and a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Clearly printing one name "Raz" and a bit of code "Skarwors", he then wrapped the piece of paper in a tenner and kept a look out for a reliable messenger.

"_She's scared, Sherlock..." _The words floated through his consciousness. He pushed them away, trying to delete them altogether. _So? There are people who have spent their whole lives scared and alone. At least in her case it is only temporary and she knows it._

After a few blocks he spotted a girl he knew that could be trusted to get the message to Raz and not just take the money and run. The rendezvous would be made successfully.

"_She's scared..." _Sherlock stopped short, dropping his head into his hands pulling tightly at his curles. But the words refused to stay locked away. Finally he straightened to full height and let his head drop back.

"Alright. Alright! Just...SHUT. UP!" And the persistent, annoying words seemed to scatter and flee.

He didn't even notice, or simply chose to ignore, the startled and a few hostile looks shot his way from fellow pedestrians as he performed an abrupt but graceful pivot and stalked away down the sidewalk to find his way back to Persia's.

He entered to warm pavilion, his eyes flicking, taking in the people gathered there for warmth and safety. He wouldn't ask a young person, Abby barely tolerated him. No. Someone older, female and in fairly good health. Someone able to manage the fire escapes and the rope ladder. His eyes settled on a woman in her late forties, very early fifties playing with a child no more then seven years of age.

Sherlock moved to stand beside the woman, pinning her until she looked up.

"I need you to come with me."

She looked puzzled while something like a flash of fear moved in the back of her eyes.

"I'm sorry young man, but me and my s..."

He cut across her. "Your grandson. I don't care if you have kidnapped him to protect him from abuse and neglect. I want you to provide company for a woman who can't return to her home right now. You won't be seen by anyone on the street, that I can guarantee you, and you can bring to boy."

"Sherlock?"

"Talk to her, Persia. I have less then an hour."

Persia and the woman watched as he turned away and took a seat away from everyone. Persia turned the woman with a soft sigh. "You can trust him. He does work with the police sometimes, but he is not an informant. He keeps his own council. Any secrets you have he will keep to himself. He'll take good care of you and the boy and, apparently, someone else who is in a spot of trouble."

"I don't know, Persia. If I'm caught, I could go to prison, and Charley..."

"I know. But Sherlock will make sure that doesn't happen. Just do what he tells you. No questions, no hesitation. He can be very prickly and seems hard at times. But he will see to it nothing bad happens. I've known him for some time now, Vera. He seems young, but he is highly competent and capable. Trust him."

Vera cast a worried glance in Sherlock's direction then at Charley then back up to Persia. "Very well then. Tell him I'll go."

Persia smiled and laid a comforting hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I'll tell him. I'll also get some warm clothing for you and Charley. Also some toys, and coloring things to take along. No need for the tike to get bored."

Persia dropped beside Sherlock and sat quietly until he acknowledged her with a level look.

"She's willing to go. Just let me get them some warm clothing and pack a few things for the boy. No more then ten minutes. Is that good for you?"

"It's all fine."

"Patients, young man." Then she got up and moved to where there were large rubber totes filled with all manner of clothing and supplies where stored safely away.

Sherlock had flashed her a smile but pulled a face once she had her back to him then dropped his chin into his palm drumming the slender fingers of his other hand on his thigh as he set himself to wait. True to her word Vera, Charley, and Sherlock were on their way to street level within the ten minutes Persia had stipulated. Sherlock herded his charges up onto the higher levels without ever taking them into a main street.

When Sherlock got the ladder down to the balcony, he stayed just long enough to get Vera and Charley down and then through the french door's. He wasn't about to stick around to see Abby's reaction, he had more important places to be.

He didn't get his cigarette fully smoked when the gangly graffiti artist showed up.

"What can I do for ya, Sig?"

"I need three of your best shadows, Raz. I have a target that has got to be netted in three days. I need to capture his phone numbers and his email's. He went after me, then a man I trust. The target's name is Wiltshire and I want him off the streets. But Scotland Yard can make the case stick so it has to be clean and by the book. Do I make myself clear?"

"When do you need 'em?"

"As soon as possible. This afternoon. That will give us over twenty four hours to set him up and that should be enough.."

"Meet you here?"

"That would be satisfactory."


	7. Chapter 7

After Raz left Sherlock pushed off the wall. Three people, scattered though out the streets of London. Perhaps 2 hours before he needed to be back for the next meeting.

The woman called Vera and her grandson would need a bolt hole near to where the Lestrade's were staying. If Vera was on the run the last person she would want to meet face to face would be Detective Gregory Lestrade. Which meant shopping and wasn't that absolutely hateful.

He stood outside Tesco's for almost ten minutes running his shopping list slowly through his mind, then pulled his coat as tightly as he could around himself, and stalked purposefully into the store. Twenty minutes later he fairly rushed out of the door and down the sidewalk until a hard shudder that shook him to the core made him stop. _Breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, in …out... _Once he could take a deep calm breath then he made his way to the bolt hold where the woman and the boy would be staying the night.

000

As Sherlock swept through the Yard's bullpen, he noticed Lestrade conversing with a sergeant. The tall brunet slowed for only a brief moment then made for the Metro detective's office and slide into the chair and started to boot up the computer.

Lestrade, noticing the curly dark haired head as it moved among the police officers and detainees then slipping into his own door, placed a hand on the sergeant's shoulder and moved to lean against the door of his own office clearing his throat loudly.

"Get away from that computer, Sherlock. That's official police property."

The younger man shot Lestrade a scathing look, but seeing that the Metro detective was standing pat on the command, gave a loud huff, gracefully rose to move around the desk and drop limply into the chair.

Lestrade pushed off the door jamb and moved to reclaim his own seat. Studying the man across the desk.

"You okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine. Did you pick up my phone from the flat?"

"Yes, along with a few other items I thought you might want out of there. The computer, skull, and microscope."

As he spoke, Lestrade fished in a desk drawer until he found the small item and held it out to Sherlock who quickly snatched it and turned it on.

"Have you found another flat yet?"

Sherlock answered without looking up. "I have hardly had the time to do so, and at the moment, no need."

A small smile quirked his lips then he was up and breezing out the door. Lestrade could only give a slight sigh and shake his head.

000

Sherlock thumbed through his phone's picture library berating himself. If only he had the ways and means of breaking into Wiltshire's phone and emails himself. But, he didn't have the technology, not yet, at least. Some day though, should he live long enough. He squelched that thought. He was hardly bored now and he had a job to do.

He was aware of Raz and his companions without having to look up. He held up the phone to Raz.

"This the target then." It wasn't a question.

"Devon Wiltshire. Lives in Belgravia."

"When do you need his contact info?"

"Think you can have it before ten tomorrow?"

"Mate, we might have it before ten tonight."

"Fine. When ever is soonest."

"Need him tracked a bit?"

"That would be helpful."

He tapped out his phone number then made sure all of his companions could see it. When they nodded indicating they had it memorized, he shut if off.

"There will be no need for us to meet again. Just text what you find out."

He held out folded pieces of paper to Raz and his shadows then walked away.

000

Climbing down the ladder, he passed through the french door into the warmth.

"Sherlock? Is everything alright? Where's Greg?"

"He's still at the Yard. I'll get him once I get these two settled."

"I...oh? I thought we would all stay here tonight."

Sherlock shook his head.

"No need. I will return them to you tomorrow."

Abby smiled at Vera. "It really was good of you to come. Thank you so much."

"I enjoyed it as well. Come on, Charley. Pack up your things and get your coat on."

000

Lestrade looked up as Sherlock once again graced his office chair with his presence his fingers steepling under his chin his eyes started taking on that fair away look that meant he might be in silent residence for awhile.

"Hold on sunshine, before you go to far away, I need to line up a police officer to take with us back to Abby."

"Redundant."

"Want to explain that? And no, I know what the word means."

"She has had company and will have the same tomorrow. You do not need to take another person there."

"Meaning more police presence, I suppose."

His only answer was the silent but eloquent shrug and slight tick of the head."

"And Abby was alright with that?"

"I wasn't able to make introductions but yes, they seemed to have enjoyed each others company by their words of parting."

"You weren't...then what have you been doing all day."

"Shopping, a decidedly dreadful chore, and getting things set for your kidnapping and meeting with Wiltshire, as soon as he decides to hire some more low life's."

"My...what!?"


	8. Chapter 8

The tall consulting detective paced his hands pressed together under his chin his fingers flying through violin exercises. One day gone, less then forty eight viable hours to bring this hunt to a satisfactory end. Less then two days before he would be forced to hand the case to the Met and he was starting to feel the pinch.

"You want to fill me in?"

"It is not complex."

"Sherlock, it's going to have to include Met personal to secure the arrest and it would help me to have some kind of mental picture if I am to be snatched. So just walk me through it."

. "I have shadows on him now. We know the opportunists who are more then willing to do this for profit. When he tries to call and set up another...hit...I will be fielding the call. Two unmarked cars to follow, two plain clothes officers each. Four more inside the rendezvous point"

Lestrade settled back in his chair as the sting operation unfolded.

"You've given this some thought."

"As I said it's not complex."

"What I'm getting as is you're putting a lot of time and energy into this. You want him badly."

Sherlock's head snapped in his direction the hazel eyes gone stormy green and laser sharp the baritone a deep growl.

"Don't you?"

"Of course I do and you saved me and Abby from God knows what last night. That's also why I'm letting you have your head in this."

Lestrade paused and studied the younger man.

"I know you hate it when people ask, but I want the truth, are you alright?"

Sherlock's only response was to pivot away with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Not good enough"

"I am fine."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Right. Dropping your contractions while being absolutely waspish speaks volumes in the negative."

"Attempting to expand your deductions skills, Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"My office, Sherlock. You can't intimidate me into leaving."

"Fine. Then I will."

As the tall brunet swirled towards the door Lestrade stood and moved to block his forward movement until they were standing close to toe to toe.

"Dammit, I need to get a handle on the logistics of what you are planning and I can't if you're wound tighter then one of your violin strings so will you please sit down and for God's sake try to relax. Breath."

"I need to go out."

Lestrade studied the tall man's countenance noting the tightness around the eyes and the restlessness hesitated only a few short moments before stepping out of the young man's way and grabbing his own coat. Sherlock sailed passed him but Lestrade quickly fell into step and they headed for the lifts only to have the tall brunet balk and spin to the left and took the stairs down to ground level. Exiting the Yard Sherlock only paused a moment before pivoting and stalking away hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Lestrade let the young man take the lead and walk what ever was bothering him out. They had traveled several blocks before the silence was broken.

"Talk and don't be dull."

Lestrade drew a breath. He didn't like guessing where this particular young man was concerned. He was prickly at best and lately it was more pronounced. He had a heavy hunch but he knew he had to be be spot on or Sherlock could very well shut down and leave him out of the loop and that would not be acceptable. So he gave a long exhale and gathered his courage and held on with both hands and took his shot in the dark.

"I can make those photos disappear."

Sherlock slowed his head ticking slightly in the DI's direction. Lestrade gave a silent sigh of relief and continued.

"We have three of Wiltshire's hired beauties. The two you put into the hospital and one of those who did the break and entry at my place. If you can bring Wiltshire"

"When...I bring him in."

"Yeah somehow I can't doubt you. But as I was saying, with their testimony and confessions, we may not need anything thing from you. Not even a court appearance."

"Can you keep my name out of it altogether?"

"I can't promise that. But I'll see what I can do to keep your involvement to a bare minimum."

Sherlock drew himself up to full height and nodded.

000

The act of being surrounded by a scruffy group of panhandlers and manhandled off the sidewalk away from the relative safety of the mundane crowd took Lestrade completely by surprise. It was instinctive to try to fight back. To make noise. To draw attention. To let people know that here was danger. But it was like being in a tank of octopi. Hands everywhere rifling away his badge, his ID, his weapon, handcuffs, his radio, his phone, a rag of some sort stuffed into his mouth as he opened it to call out. A knit cap was jammed down over his eyes and his arms were jerked behind him even as he struggled. His heart dropping at the feel and sound of the zip tie. The one thought that inserted itself and started to run like a mantra **letthesebeSherlock'speopleletthesebeSherlock'speople** took hold and he tried to get a grip on calm, hope, and trust.

He was half pushed and half dragged down an alley way. Then came a metallic click and he was lifted and shoved into what could only be the back of a vehicle. A van perhaps. He lay still and realized that none of his kidnappers had climbed into the back with him. There was silence until there came movement from the front of the vehicle and someone squatted down by him and jerked the cap off his head and pulled the rag from his mouth.

"We can talk for now."

"JESUS,SHERLOCK. A little FOREWARNING would have been NICE!"

"I told you about a kidnapping. Besides I doubt your acting skills would have been all that convincing. I think this will prove to have been very most effective."

Lestrade blew out a breath and let himself go limp on the floor as the adrenaline rush coursed though his system.

"Wiltshire was watching? How did he know?"

"Oh do keep up Detective Inspector. I told you this was being planned."

"Yes, you did. But when did he contact you?"

"He didn't. I called him."


	9. Chapter 9

"You, Sherlock, are one royal prat. No doubt you enjoyed setting those kids lose on me. They knew darn well and good that I wasn't going to be able to touch 'em. Not now, and not when we have Wiltshire by the heels."

"Oh well, I wouldn't say that. They were under dire threat not to do you physical harm."

Lestrade gave vent to a gusty huff.

"So why exactly did you feel...ahh...he was taking his own sweet time in recruiting and it was not fitting into your schedule."

"Very good, Lestrade. We are finally both on the same page. I called him last night after I reunited you and your wife."

"And the call for plain clothes back up and all that?"

"No doubt a very concerned citizen, having found your phone, has reported the kidnapping and has made the request while following this van...not to closely of course... giving out the directions."

"You and the Irregulars are enjoying this far to much."

"I must admit, it has not been boring."

"Oh cheers, bloody cheers."

000

Lestrade lost track of time in the back of the darkened van, but at last he felt the vehicle slow and heard the crunch of gravel under it's wheels as it finally came to a full stop. The back doors where jerked open and he was pulled roughly out but not into sight from between them.

"Keep your hands clasped tightly behind your back. Concentrate on it. At no time can you allow your arms to look loose and relaxed."

A sharp blade severed the zip cord and something was pushed into the waist band at the small of his back.

"You are a prisoner...don't forget it. Don't let your focus wander. No matter what is said or what may happen."

Lestrade glanced at the intent face of his companion wishing that he could ask another question or two but his gut told him that the time for such things had past.

They were already moving away from the van towards what looked like an Victorian relic of a house. The grounds were unkempt but not to the point of neglected jungle. They circled the house to a court yard of what had once been a stables. Once Sherlock had pushed the DI roughly through the doors, he closed them then moved them both towards where the stable boys might have slept. A very faint light was gleaming through chinks in the wall.

Lestrade studied the layout as best he could in the low light. There was a feeling of open space above him. There was a smell of old musty hay as if who ever had once owned the place never cleaned the place out properly before abandoning it. He glanced up and noticed that the loft was an open gallery that ran into the dark gloom of the structure. But he had little time to note much else before being shoved once more through another door. Sherlock moved in behind him but this time the door was not shut though the tall brunet blocked it bodily.

Lestrade was having serious doubts about this set up. If the Yarders came in guns drawn unarmed Sherlock could get caught in the middle of things. He could only pray that Sherlock's attention to detail had covered all possibilities and contingencies.

"Ah, Mr. Williamson. I must congratulate you on your success. You have kept your promise admirably. Good evening Detective Inspector. I do apologize for this...rather neanderthal... display of pique, but I was getting rather over anxious. You must admit that you do hold some responsibility. If you had left things well enough alone, you simply wouldn't have had to gone through all of this."

"You have a young colleague of mine assaulted. You order people to break into my house, late at night when me and my wife would have been asleep leaving me no doubt that it was not a social call. You have finally shown yourself to be the lowlife your whistle blowers claimed you to be. I am not responsible for that, Mr. Wiltshire, you are. And I'm not about to be paid off or threatened into looking the other way."

"Think carefully, Detective Inspector. You have family...a wife. Her safety should be paramount to you. Oh and don't be cliché about how I wouldn't dare do anything to harm her. You have seen what I am capable of when pushed. I am getting angry and impatient with you and these investigations into my private life. I want them to stop...and I want any wants and warrants you may be planning to issue against me dropped. At this point it is nothing but here say. I doubt anything will come of it in court...if it even goes so far as that."

"I can promise you, Wiltshire that it will get that far. Assault, kidnapping, conspiracy to break and enter and do bodily harm. It all falls into your lap and there are witnesses now."

"Yes, well. Who would have thought that such a fragile looking young man could take on those three and escape. I will make sure my people are better prepared next time."

Lestrade hadn't heard a sound but suddenly the presence that had been Sherlock was gone. He strained to hear anything at all but nothing made a sound beyond the walls of the tack room. Suddenly light flared in the stables and Lestrade was jostled aside as people pushed their way around around him. He felt his body lax with a sense of deep relief. These where uniformed police with guns drawn and aimed at Devon Wiltshire's chest.

"Devon Wiltshire you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent..."

As the arresting officer continued to recite the Miranda Lestrade slipped out of the room. He wanted to make sure that Sherlock wasn't being roughly retained or even arrested. He found the young "Consulting Detective" leaning against the outer wall of the stables guarded by no less then three plain clothed officers. But no guns were drawn and Sherlock had managed to bum a cigarette off of one.

"We could put you in a unit...make it like you have been arrested?"

Sherlock's lips quirked into a half smile. "Thank you but no, Lestrade. I can make my way back into the city."

The young brunet took a deep draw of smoke and held it as he dropped the only partially smoked butt onto the gravel...crushed it out then took off down the drive trailing a stream of smoke behind him. Lestrade was not surprised to see several shadows break out of the over grown garden and join him in his flight.

000

Abby jumped slightly as something bumped onto the small balcony and the door opened. She watched the pale young man enter but waited expectantly for another presence to join him. When her hopes didn't materialize she gazed up at Sherlock.

"Lestrade is fine. Wiltshire is in custody and Lestrade is at the Met processing him. I am taking you home."

"It's all over then? We'll be safe now?"

Sherlock's body stilled. As safe as any one ever is, he thought but he only nodded in reply.

Vera and her grandson had moved to join Abby and Sherlock looked at them.

"You can stay here for now. It's warm and there is plenty of food. I will come back for you later."

He ushered the eager Abby out the french door and up the ladder pulling it up and stashing it away amid the chimney pots as they moved over the rooftops and to the Lestrade's front door.

Abby unlocked the door to her home and Sherlock turned silently away.

"Wait...Mr. Holmes..."

Sherlock paused and then half turned to listen.

"You know that I have not approved of the attention my husband has given you. Bringing you into our home when you so ungraciously showed up strung out and on drugs. I don't like it when Greg brings his work home with him. This is the only true sanctuary I feel that we have, the two of us. But for all that, I just want to say...thank you. For looking out for Greg...and in extension...me."

Then she turned and slipped into the house quietly shutting the door behind her. Sherlock merely gave a slight shake of his head and walked away he had things to do and a telephone call to make.


	10. Chapter 10

This cycle is not being closed just this one segment of it. Hopefully there will be more on Sherlock Holmes and his "Homeless Network" to come. Thanks to all of you who are reading, following, reviewing and favoriting this. It is all so very rewarding and inspiring. I am in your debt.

**EPILOGUE**

"You've reached the London Met Police..."

"Oh please. I do know what number I dialed and whom I am speaking to. I just wanted to let you know that you're wife is at your house. And before you ask, she is fine. Why wouldn't she be."

Lestrade sighed. How could he explain tho this very socially inept young man that a house invasion often affects the victim in much the same way as a violent assault would. It was a violation, a type of rape, as if Sherlock hadn't experienced something like this recently himself? But in a way Sherlock was right. If Abby had been willing to go to the house alone, she was probably okay. He would to find a way of showing Sherlock his appreciation for giving them fair warning and getting he and Abby out of the house in time. This had spared Abby, and himself a lot of emotional trauma and more then likely, physical damage of some sort.

"All right then. I'm almost done here anyway so I'll be going home straight away. Sherlock...I do..."

"Thank me, yes I know. But it would have taken you blokes ages to bring him is going through your regular channels."

"That's not what I was going to thank you for."

Lestrade listened to the silent pause a the other end of the line.

"Oh..."

The Detective Inspector smiled on hearing the note of uncertainty and confusion in the baritone usually so mature and self possessed but often childlike as well, like now.

"Never mind, Sherlock. It was well played and there were plenty of ears on hand to hear his confession and he can't plead coercion. Look, I have to go. I will be speaking to you later."

Sherlock gave the phone a perplexed frown as the call disconnected then he sighed and started to punch in another set of numbers. If sentiment had been at the root of Lestrade's hint at gratitude, Sherlock knew he was about to be bombarded by it in spades as he punched the send button.

"Allo?"

"Lisette."

"Mon Cherie! It is Sherlock, yes! Oh my dear, how long has it been. Very bad of you not to keep in touch!"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath then released it slowly against the onslaught of emotions flowing through the connection.

"Yes, it is very bad of you since you only call when you want something. So. What is it you need and who am I to contact?"

"Tell Aimee that his aunt and niece want to come home. Unfortunately their papers were lost and need to be replaced."

"Birth certificates along with the passports?"

"That would be helpful yes."

"Very well, Mon Cherie. I will have him get in touch with you for the particulars. Now. An end to this tedious cloak and dagger. What I want from you is a promise that you plan to visit us soon."

"Lisette, I am very busy."

"Yes, being a detective, I know. But even the policeman takes holiday. I must warn you, Sherlock, if you do not promise to come over Christmas I will send Antoine and you know what that would be like. He enjoys the game of cat and mouse almost as much as you do, if not more, if that is at all possible. You also know that I do not make idle threats."

Sherlock took stock of his options. The thoughts of traveling to France during the coming holiday crush was not an inviting thought. But Antoine made Mycroft's "kidnappings" look like child's play.

Lisette took Sherlock's silence as a sign that he meant to refuse her.

"Please, oh please, do not say no. I know what that Holmes family estate is like. So cold and echoing, if you dined to attend anything with Mycroft, that is. Come stay with us. I know how large large gatherings distress you. I will arrange a whole suite of rooms be at your disposal. It will be a quiet retreat for you."

Then she fell silent knew that pleading could all to often accomplish the opposite results of what she hoped to obtain from this, her favorite nephew.

Sherlock screwed up his resolve and heaved an inward sigh.

"Very well."

"Oh, Sherlock! You have made me a very happy woman indeed. Will you come with Aimee's aunt and niece?"

"No, I think not. They should return to France before I depart."

"Very well. I will get in touch with him as soon as we end this call."

"It would be appreciated."

"It is no trouble at all. You know Aimee takes an artist's pride in all..well of course you know hence this call, yes. All will be in readiness before the month is out."

"That is what I am counting on. Goodbye."

"Until later, Sherlock."

Sherlock put the phone away and headed for the bolt hole. There were plans to formalize. Not the least, the task of convincing a young boy that dressing up a girl was not out of the realm of possibilities if it was part of a larger adventure.


End file.
